5th Year Adventures, Short Story 13, Harry Potter and the Hidden Isle
by PTMaskell
Summary: The young wizard Harry has been pursuing has been abandoned by his dragon, deserted on a cold isle north of Scotland. Loss of hope, and a year of being hunted has left him sick, and unable to continue.


This is the 13th Chapter of the 5th Year Adventures of Monsieur Couillard.

It is primarily an OC story, so if you have no interest, you can turn back now. If you think a story about a young wizard, forced to leave Hogwarts, and pursued by a powerful, and skilled dark force using little more than 4 years worth of training, a dragon, and a bag of tricks might be worth reading, please continue.

If you like it, please Favorite, Follow, and leave an honest Review. And most importantly, catch up on the rest of the story to date by reading the rest of my short stories.

Chapter 13. The Hidden Isle

The young French wizard had been pursued from aross Europe, to the Balkan Mountains, to the northernmost reaches of Greenland, and into hiding. The year had crept along with the ever looming threat of capture, murder, or worse for eight months now.

Eight months of running, hiding, flying, losing ground, and eventually using every talent at his disposal to eventually find a place so hidden, even the legendary Auror Harry Potter himself couldn't find him anymore. There had been many close calls, some more costly than others.

Young Monsieur Couillard was hunched over across a moss-covered stone on an Unplottable island north of Scotland, not too far in the grand scheme of things from where this all started.

Coughing slightly, he groaned, and rubbed his swollen temples. The constant traveling, the inconsistent rest, not knowing when his next meal may come if at all, and the recent departure of his loyal companion, his Antipodean Opaleye had rendered him unable to fight off the infection the damp had delt him.

Over the months, the young would-be-5th Year Hogwarts student had had lots of time to think about what had led to this situation.

It wasn't just about finding Headmistress McGonagall's wand flying through the sky over Hogwarts one moonless night. And it most certainly wasn't just seeing her visage come from within her own wand. Something hadn't been right at Hogwarts for five years now.

In his endless late night wanderings, nose buried in various books, the young wizard had spent more than even the Professors spent in their own classrooms, offices, and Hallways. Hundreds of tiny clues had been niggling at the back of his mind for ages now, and he was now sure what had led to this fiasco.

He'd been on the run for so long, searching desperately for a way out of his currently predicament, it took solitude on an island filled with flesh-eating Quintapeds to get a grasp of what was truly wrong.

His head was aching again. Chest tight, and muscles aching and sore, 'Maybe I should do something about this before anything else,' he wondered to himself.

Usually the warmth of his pale dragon kept him from being affected by the elements, but her exhaustion was insurmountable. The loyalty of a dragon can not be kept indefinitely if you always need it. They're defensive of their young, but every whelp must eventually leave its roost.

And so she'd gone. From the determination of her mind, she was making the long journey back to Australia she'd left four years ago. He was sad to see her go, but he never once asked her to stay. She knew his mind, and she knew it was time. No words need be spoken.

Not wanting to stay lost of feverish thought forever, the young wizard opened up his Undetectable Expansion Charmed side-satchel and climbed the ladder down into the laboratory/bedroom with adjoining Fire Cave held within. He stumbled slightly on the last rung, but held his grip firm, shutting his eyes while a wave of dizziness passed. It was much warmer in here than the balmy 18C outside. But the bag was defenseless in here.

Quickly locating a shelf filled with Potions, he spotted what he was looking for. A potion he'd brewed himself not long after arriving on Drear Island he knew he would need for just this occasion. It had taken the last of his Mandrake root, but the early signs of a cold were so obvious, they literally hurt.

A small corked, plain bottle with a thick red fluid inside landed squarely in the young man's line of sight, and he snatched it up without hesitation. The area had been secure, and as far as he could tell, had been blissfully free of the Quintaped population for the entirety of their existence. But their appetite for human flesh might draw them to his scent.

It was no time to worry about his assured, bloody death in case of discovery, now was time for a nap.

Climbing into his large bed that had begun its existence as a pile of driftwood and a living goose, it gave a brief 'Honk!' as he climbed into it, and pulled up the covers.

Popping the cork, he wasted no time draining the contents down his throat.

'This is no time to be sick,' he thought wearily, 'it's almost time to go home.'

A warming sensation was spreading from his stomach through him slowly. The shiver he'd been experiencing for the last day was beginning to become less violent.

Being just a 5th Year student, he was barely able to legally fly without supervision, let alone use magic, brew potions, and run from a Ministry of Magic specialized hunter of dark wizards.

'Dark wizard,' he thought ruefully, 'Yeah, I'm a real threat to their, "authority".'

He doubted if any of them even read the homework he'd been surreptitiously having flown in by Owl to their desks. Hopefully his grades won't have suffered too harshly from his physical absence. He'd had his 1st - 5th year books since his first visit to Diagon Alley 5 years ago.

The warmth had reached his toes, and was now slowly rising up along the back of his neck, unkinking the muscles as it went.

'After all the time it took perfect this last draught...'

Gasping slightly, the boy shot upright in his bed as the pressure in his head blew, straight out his ears in a puff of smoke.

The tension melted away, his sinuses clear, and the fever broken the young French wizard dropped back down onto his pillow for a much needed bit of rest.

'Doit les libérer,' was his last conscious thought.


End file.
